


This Guided Life

by sendal



Category: Supernatural, The Sentinel
Genre: AU Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:45:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendal/pseuds/sendal





	This Guided Life

Sam Winchester was pissed off.

Better than being pissed on, as his brother Dean would say, but Dean was half of the problem this morning.

Otherwise it was a beautiful California day, the sky wide and blue, the sun bright but not too hot yet. Sam had woken up early, enjoyed a great breakfast with his mother Mary and girlfriend Jessica, and driven them all to the Stanford Arena stadium. Where he was waiting, right now, his knees jittery, hanging out with a thousand classmates and their families while they waited for commencement to  
begin. The air was heavy with noise, perfume and sweat; Sam had the sneaking suspicion he'd forgotten to put on deodorant and kept resisting the urge to sniff his own underarms.

Dean was late, of course. Dean and John both. You would think Sentinels, of all people, would be observant enough to notice the time once in awhile, he thought to himself. He knew they hadn't planned to get into town until close to midnight, but here it was, ten a.m.,and there was no sign of them.

"Damn it," Sam said, snapping his cell phone closed while Jess fussed with his cap.

"They'll be here," Mary said calmly. Her blond hair was golden in the sunlight, and the green dress she was wearing highlighted her eyes. "You know your father."

Sam scrolled through his contact list. He had tried Ash's number, but hadn't even gotten his voicemail. He refrained from calling Ellen because he didn't want to upset Mary. But surely Ash and Ellen were in close to their Sentinels. He imagined all the things that could be preventing the four of them from getting to the ceremony on time and could think of only one: another goddamned hunt.

An announcement cut through the air. Jess grinned and said, "That's it. You have to go line up."

Sam flapped the long sleeves of his black robe. "I feel like a dork."

"You earned being a dork." Mary kissed his cheek. "I couldn't be prouder, Sam. Look for us in the photo area when you cross the stage, and we'll meet you back here after it's over."

Jess's kiss was more thorough and hotter. "Don't trip. And give me your phone."

Sam reluctantly handed over the cell phone. He had to hurry to make it to his spot in the line-up, and nearly lost his tassel on the way. During the procession into the stadium, with Pomp and Circumstance ringing out from the band, he almost managed to forget Dean and John ditching him. Four years of school, all the crazy nights studying, trying to keep his 4.0 average while working on the side, meeting and falling in love with Jess -- it was all a blur, most of it happy, and he couldn't believe it was over. Three months of more work and then he'd be in his first year at Stanford Law with a concentration on the paranormal. Most momentous of all, however, was the diamond engagement ring sitting in a little satin box in his pocket. He'd wanted to give to Jess in front of his whole family, but that seemed like an unlikely plan for the day.

The ceremony took two hours, most of which he spent sitting on a folding chair that wasn't quite big enough for his long legs. The one welcome part was when he crossed the stage and shook hands with people he'd never seen before and would never see again. Later, when the sky was full of caps and cheers, he started squeezing his way back through the exuberant crowd.

"Sam!" said one classmate, slapping him on the back.

"Sammy!" That was another classmate, throwing her arms around  
him.

More friends stopped to congratulate him with handshakes or kisses, and he was introduced to more sisters, brothers and relatives than he could possibly remember. The sun blinded him, his robes and shirt were both soaked through, and his mouth hurt from smiling. When he found Jess and Mary he scooped the water bottle from Jess's hand and took a great big swallow.

"I needed that," he said, and then he saw the frown etched on Mary's face.

"Dad called," she said. "They're really sorry they missed graduation."

Sam's hands fisted. "Another stupid hunt, is that it? Because if there's some unhappy ghost around, there's nothing more important -  
\- "

Mary interrupted him. "Dean's in the hospital. But your father says it's not too bad."

Not bad, but in the hospital. That wasn't Dean's style at all. Sam demanded, "What hospital? Where?"

"Right here. The Medical Center."

"Let's go," Sam said.

The parking lot was a nightmare, with hundreds of drivers already trying to maneuver out the shortcut onto Arboretum Road before the big crush. Arboretum was tree-lined and beautiful, bucolic like the rest of the campus, but it was only two lanes wide. Sam resisted the urge to beep his horn as traffic snaked along. "What did Dad say?"

"He was exposed to something," Mary said. "No other injuries."

"Exposed to what? They were hunting, weren't they?"

"Sam -- " Jess started.

Sam didn't even look at her. She didn't know how hunts mattered more to his father and brother than anything else in the world, including family. He swung the car down Quarry Road, which was wider but still jammed with cars. "Is he in the emergency room?"

"No. Fourth floor, Main Building."

He turned the car onto the main drive, swerved into the first parking structure, and took two steps out of the car before he remember to pull off his black robe. Sam had never been inside the hospital and didn't know which way to go, but Jess confidently took his hand and pulled him toward the elevators.

"I used to volunteer here in high school," she said.

Sam wasn't sure he'd ever known that. Two years of dating, and he thought there were no surprises left. She was a local girl born and bred, and he was lucky to have met her in the crush of students and faculty. The day they'd met was the luckiest of his life.

Mary stepped off the elevator first and then stopped completely. Sam nearly ran over in his haste. He saw what John and Ellen Harvelle standing at the nurse's station and that, no doubt, was what had frozen his mother. Even after all these years, Mary couldn't bear Ellen's presence.

John's face, creased with frowns, lightened just a little when he saw them. Surely he'd known they were coming. Tracked them from the parking lot, maybe. His hearing had always been at the exceptional end of Sentinel abilities. Ellen took a step back, maybe in unconscious deference to Mary, but kept her hand on John's arm. Grounding him, Sam knew. Being the Guide.

"How is he?" Mary asked, ignoring Ellen completely.

John nodded a little. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Hanging in there. It was some kind of allergen in his dinner last night. They're not sure what. I'm glad you're here."

Sam nearly bristled with new anger. As if he wouldn't come? But he told himself to stay calm, keep a sense of perspective. Especially here in the middle of a hospital corridor. There were more important things to think about, and it helped to know that at least Dean hadn't been injured on a stupid hunt.

"Where is he?" Sam asked.

"Down there," John said. "Room 512. Don't go in there smelling like that.."

Mary and Jess each were wearing perfume. Sam had never gotten into the habit of cologne or heavy shampoo but he washed up anyway, and went directly down to Dean's room without waiting for the others. A single bed was inside. The walls had been stripped of decorations, leaving the room stark but assuring. The fluorescent  
lights were off and the blinds were drawn. A white-noise generator sat on the bedside table, and Dean was curled up in bed facing it like a flower turned to the sun.

Except if Dean were some kind of flower, he was a badly wilted one. Though he was six feet tall and solidly built, he'd lost weight since Sam had last seen him. His skin was pasty and pale in the dim light, with dark circles under his eyes and thin, bloodless lips. The silent heart monitor on a stand was displaying a regular rhythm, and the other machines showed a pulse of 82 and blood pressure of 135/90. An IV was plugged into a port on his right arm and taped to his skin. Dean's eyes were squeezed shut in a way Sam found familiar -- big brother had a headache, a pretty ugly one at that. His arms were crossed over his chest and his knees were pulled up.

Sam saw no sign of Ash, which pissed him off all over again. What good was having a Guide if he wasn't there when Dean needed him? Carefully Sam approached the bed, trying to keep his footsteps soft.

Dean shifted slightly on the bed. His eyes slitted open. "Sam?"

"Hey there." Sam moved closer but didn't try and touch him. "I'm right here."

A faint noise came from the back of Dean's throat. Sam hated to hear any sounds of distress. Years of estrangement couldn't erase that. "Where's Ash, Dean?"

Dean was holding himself very still, as if any movement hurt. "Gone."

"Gone where?" Sam asked.

"Doesn't matter." Dean's breath was becoming ragged. "Go on home."

"I'm not going anywhere. How can I help?"

A very brief shake of Dean's head.

"Don't be a stubborn asshole," Sam said. "Give me your hand."

"Go away," Dean insisted.

Sam touched the curled fingers of Dean's left hand. He felt a brief jolt, like a brush of static electricity, and then a solid sense of connection, of being hooked into a fast flowing current. It startled him that it was so easy, so effortless. Four years melted away without a trace. Through the link Sam felt terror, huge and red and growing. Of misery, as all of Dean's senses careened out of control. Of abandonment and helplessness and grief --

"He's dead?" Sam pulled back in surprise. The connection snapped like an overstretched elastic band. "Ash is dead?"

"Sammy," Dean pleaded. "Please."

Please go away. Or please help. It was hard, sometimes, knowing what Dean wanted, or what he thought he wanted. Sam ignored the words and focused on Dean's undercurrents instead. He threaded his fingers through Dean's and clasped his hand tightly. He wanted to pull Dean up into a hug, but didn't think Dean would go for that. Old habits, stubborn stupid old habits, died hard.

"You're okay," Sam told him, and tried to sound calm about it. "Nothing to worry about, okay? Just listen to my voice. Listen to my heartbeat."

Dean's eyes closed again. Sam loosened his hand a little and rubbed circles on Dean's skin with his thumb. "You missed all the hot chicks at graduation today. I mean, sure, those gowns don't do much for the figure, but underneath? I know for sure of a few who were wearing bikinis, and saw maybe one or two that weren't wearing anything at all."

"I know when you're lying," Dean muttered.

"Shut up. I'm trying to cheer you up."

Dean was quiet. Perhaps he was concentrating on Sam's heartbeat, or listening to something beyond the white noise generator. Sam didn't think he'd zoned. Hoped not. It had been so long since Sam had pulled Dean out of a zone that he wasn't sure the old tricks  
would work.

"Graduation was pretty boring," Sam continued. He related some of the long winded speeches, and how dull it was listening to hundreds of names, and how it sucked as usual to be at the end of the alphabet. He didn't talk about the apartment he and Jess had rented for the summer, or the job he'd lined up, or even about his law classes starting in the fall. Lies of omission, those. He talked about Jess's  
family and how they'd been at Christmas, and her dull uncles and clingy cousins, and how dry the stuffing had been and how wretched the Republican conversation.

Dean's fingers grew lax in Sam's grip, and his breathing evened out.

Sam continued talking until he was sure Dean was asleep. When lifted his head and stretched his back, he saw Mary watching from the doorway. He nodded her in. Mary tiptoed across the floor to sit in the bedside chair. She didn't speak, afraid of breaking Dean's fragile sleep. Sam remembered the winter when Dean had stopped being able to sleep through the night, tormented by sounds only a Sentinel could hear. How he could only sleep if Sam snuck over into his bed after lights out. Dean been ten years old at the time, late for a Sentinel awakening. Sam had been only six, but he could still remember the bone-weariness rolling out of Dean every day, the exhaustion as he dragged himself to school each morning. Then John had come to visit after months on the road and saw what Mary had been denying to herself all along.

The past was gone, Sam told himself, and gently backed away off Dean's bed. Dean didn't stir or protest. Sam retreated to the hallway, wincing in the bright light out there. He stretched his arms and twisted at the hips, trying to crack out stiffness. Almost an hour had passed since they'd arrived, though it felt like mere minutes.

"Good job, son," John said from the waiting room. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face heavy with fatigue. Ellen was at his side, trying to get him to drink a cup of water. "He hasn't really slept since we got here last night."

"When did Ash die?" Sam said.

Ellen's gaze lifted, sharpened. "He talked about that?"

"Barely."

John rubbed his hand over his face. "Three months ago."

"He hasn't had a Guide in three months?" Sam demanded.

"Of course he's had a Guide," Ellen snapped. "The bureau assigned three of them. He keeps driving them away."

"What happened to Ash?" Sam asked.

John's head shot up. Sam heard Mary calling Dean's name frantically. A red-haired doctor bolted down the hallway and through Dean's doorway. John rushed forward as well, Ellen close at his heels. Sam knew better than to try and stand in John's way. By the time Sam caught up to his family, Dean was flailing for breath and panicking under the ministration of a nurse and the doctor.

"He just started gasping," Mary said, her face wet with tears.

Grimly John said, "This is the third reaction since midnight."

The nurse said, "Blood pressure's falling. The dopamine's not working."

"Give it a minute," the doctor replied, staring at the heart monitor.

Sam couldn't stand six feet from Dean and not do anything. He slid past Mary and circumvented the nurse in order to grab hold of Dean's hand again. The doctor said, "You have to leave, all of you clear out --"

"I'm his brother," Sam said. "Dean, listen to me. I know you can hear me."

Dean gripped his hand so tightly it was amazing Sam's fingers weren't crushed. He was frantic for breath, his face red from exertion. His eyes were wide and panicking, not focused on anything, and his wheezing loud enough to make Sam's own throat  
ache.

"You're not authorized," the doctor insisted. "We're taking good care of him."

"You're not trained for Sentinels," Sam said, just guessing really, because the guy looked like an intern and Sentinel medical experts were far and few between. "Dean, look at me, look into my eyes. You can breathe, you know you can. Your lungs are clearing up. The medicine's working."

The doctor snapped, "Your brother is having a bi-phasic anaphylactic reaction. Positive thinking won't help. Ann, get security up here."

From the doorway, Mary said, "Sam, let the doctor do his job--"

At the same time Ellen said, "Don't you dare leave him. Right, John? Oh, hell."

Sam glanced over his shoulder. John had zoned out and was standing slack-jawed, his gaze locked on Dean. That wasn't going to help anything. Ellen steered John from the room before his knees gave out completely. Mary, her arms crossed over her chest, didn't follow but instead stayed in the doorway, stubborn and fierce.

"You need to leave," the doctor insisted.

"I'm his Guide," Sam said, before he could even think about it. A flat-out lie, but he'd do worse to help his brother. "You can't separate a Sentinel from a Guide. It's against the law."

Dean's gaze fixed on Sam for a moment, then slid away again. The wheezing wasn't getting better but it wasn't getting worse. The doctor apparently decided to ignore Sam and instead ordered an increase in the IV steroids along with another dose of antihistamine. Dean's face was red and sweaty, and Sam cupped his cheek firmly.

"Look at me," Sam ordered. "Right here, Dean. You're not dying, okay? Trust me. You feel like shit but you're not dying."

A faint noise, maybe a protest, but Dean couldn't quite get the word out.

Sam leaned forward. "The medicine is working. Let it do its job."

The episode lasted several more minutes. Slowly Dean's condition improved until he was breathing easier and heavy-lidded with exhaustion. The nurse and doctor retreated. Mary came around the side of the bed. Sam thought it was taking every ounce of discipline she had to not reach down and pull Dean to her chest.

"Mom," Dean croaked out. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Mary asked gently. "Go to sleep, sweetie. We'll be right here when you wake up."

Dean hadn't loosened his grip on Sam's hand. That was okay. Hurt a little, but Sam could deal with that. He eased his butt into the chair and let his outstretched arm rest on the thin mattress. The sheets smelled faintly like detergent, and Sam knew the cheap cotton had to be scratching Dean's already sensitive skin.

"Mom, he needs sheets," Sam said in a low voice. "Twice rinsed. You remember?"

"It hasn't been that long, Sam," Mary replied, with a bit of exasperation in her voice.

Six years since Dean had gone off to the Sentinel Academy. Three years since he'd swung through town with his military haircut, new Guide and gung-ho government attitude that made Sam gag. Dean's hair was still short. His complexion was pasty, but maybe that was the illness and dim light at work. Sam thought about Ash, dead -- and not just dead, but killed. That much had been clear through Dean's grief. Killed and gone, leaving Dean adrift in the brutal world of hunters and paranormal creatures. But that was the world Dean had chosen all those years ago: John and Ellen over Sam and Mary. Job over family. The dead over the living.

Dean's sleep only lasted about twenty minutes before he jerked  
awake and nearly pulled out his IV.

"Easy, easy," Sam said. "You're safe."

"Sammy," Dean choked out. He backed up against the pillows andwall, scratching at his arms. His gaze flickered around the room, looking for something or someone. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. "You okay?"

Sam snorted. "I'm not the one in the hospital, man."

"What happened?"

"You tell me."

Dean's focus turned inward for a moment. "Doesn't matter," he said. "I'm ready to go."

"Are you crazy?" Sam asked. "Go where?"

"Got a job to do."

Sam said, rather testily, "Your job was to come to my graduation this morning."

Dean scratched at his legs. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Stop scratching," Sam said, capturing his hands. "You're making it worse. You don't need to. You can control it."

"Stop talking like that," Dean snapped. "You're not a Guide. And you're not my Guide."

The words stung a little, but Sam ignored the prickle. He wasn't sure Dean was totally coherent right now. "Okay, I'm not. And I'm sorry you lost Ash."

"I didn't lose him. He was taken away."

Sam nodded. "Why isn't Ellen helping you?"

Dean's nose wrinkled up. "She smells like Dad."

That made sense. Ellen and John had been living in each other's pockets for almost all of Sam's life. Guides were not interchangeable, even in an emergency. Trying to keep Dean occupied, Sam asked, "How about me? Who do I smell like?"

"Not Dad," Dean said firmly. At least he'd stopped scratching. "I mean it. I want to blow this popsicle stand. Gotta earn my pay."

"You can leave when your body's not going to freak out again," Sam said. "Look at you."

Dean stared down at his arms and legs and the hospital johnny they'd stuck him in. After a moment's contemplation, the energy seemed to drain right out of him. He sank down into the pillows again, curling one underneath him as he lay on his stomach. His eyes fluttered closed. "How are they doing? Mom and Dad?"

"Not really talking to one another. Too worried about you."

"Little food allergy. Nothing to worry about."

"Since when have you had food allergies?"

Dean shrugged with one shoulder.

Sam let him sleep. After awhile he thought he should go talk to Jess and his family, figure out a plan for the rest of the day, but every time he tried to tiptoe to the doorway, Dean made a faint, unconscious noise of protest. Sam decided to sprawl in the bedside chair instead and watched shadows move across the wall with the passage of the sun. When Mary returned with the sheets he was startled to see three hours had passed.

"No more reactions?" she asked.

Sam stretched his legs. "No. He's been good."

"Thanks to you."

"Thanks to the medicine."

Mary arched an eyebrow. "You were his first and best Guide, Sam."

"So not true." Sam stood up. "Anyway, let's do this. Dean, come on, man. Wake up."

It took a few minutes for Dean to be awake enough and steady enough to be parked in the chair while Sam and Mary changed the sheets. Mary had also rinsed and dried a hospital gown that they helped Dean get into. Dean asked where John was, and Mary said that he had been taken back to the hotel for some sleep and rest.

Mary didn't say Ellen had taken him. That much was understood.

"He'll be back soon," Mary said, stroking Dean's forehead as he lay against the pillows. Sam almost reached over to stop her, but Dean was tolerating the touch well and seemed to enjoy it. Mary continued with, "Did you eat? Do you want some Jello?"

Dean said, "They got grape?"

"No Jello for you," a voice said firmly from the doorway. "Not until we test your sensitivities."

Sam turned, expecting that officious doctor again, but instead he saw a black man in a business suit. He asked, "Who are you?"

"Victor Henriksen," the man said. He held up a badge. "Agent Winchester's new Guide."

to be continued...


End file.
